Occasional Poems | Page 9

fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow, The
Golden Age, old friends of mine, is not a fable now.
And, sweet as has life's vintage been through all your pleasant past,
Still, as at Cana's marriage-feast, the best wine is the last!
Again before me, with your names, fair Chester's landscape comes, Its
meadows, woods, and ample barns, and quaint, stone-builded homes.
The smooth-shorn vales, the wheaten slopes, the boscage green and soft,
Of which their poet sings so well from towered Cedarcroft.
And lo! from all the country-side come neighbors, kith and kin; From
city, hamlet, farm-house old, the wedding guests come in.
And they who, without scrip or purse, mob-hunted, travel-worn, In
Freedom's age of martyrs came, as victors now return.
Older and slower, yet the same, files in the long array,
And hearts are
light and eyes are glad, though heads are badger-gray.
The fire-tried men of Thirty-eight who saw with me the fall, Midst
roaring flames and shouting mob, of Pennsylvania Hall;
And they of Lancaster who turned the cheeks of tyrants pale, Singing of
freedom through the grates of Moyamensing jail!
And haply with them, all unseen, old comrades, gone before, Pass,
silently as shadows pass, within your open door,--
The eagle face of Lindley Coates, brave Garrett's daring zeal, Christian
grace of Pennock, the steadfast heart of Neal.

Ah me! beyond all power to name, the worthies tried and true, Grave
men, fair women, youth and maid, pass by in hushed review.
Of varying faiths, a common cause fused all their hearts in one. God
give them now, whate'er their names, the peace of duty done!
How gladly would I tread again the old-remembered places,
Sit down
beside your hearth once more and look in the dear old faces!
And thank you for the lessons your fifty years are teaching, For honest
lives that louder speak than half our noisy preaching;
For your steady faith and courage in that dark and evil time, When the
Golden Rule was treason, and to feed the hungry, crime;
For the poor slave's house of refuge when the hounds were on his track,
And saint and sinner, church and state, joined hands to send him back.
Blessings upon you!--What you did for each sad, suffering one, So
homeless, faint, and naked, unto our Lord was done!
Fair fall on Kennett's pleasant vales and Longwood's bowery ways The
mellow sunset of your lives, friends of my early days.
May many more of quiet years be added to your sum,
And, late at last,
in tenderest love, the beckoning angel come.
Dear hearts are here, dear hearts are there, alike below, above; Our
friends are now in either world, and love is sure of love. 1874.
HYMN
FOR THE OPENING OF PLYMOUTH CHURCH, ST. PAUL,
MINNESOTA.
All things are Thine: no gift have we,
Lord of all gifts, to offer Thee;

And hence with grateful hearts to-day,
Thy own before Thy feet we
lay.

Thy will was in the builders' thought;
Thy hand unseen amidst us
wrought;
Through mortal motive, scheme and plan,
Thy wise
eternal purpose ran.
No lack Thy perfect fulness knew;
For human needs and longings
grew
This house of prayer, this home of rest,
In the fair garden of
the West.
In weakness and in want we call
On Thee for whom the heavens are
small;
Thy glory is Thy children's good,
Thy joy Thy tender
Fatherhood.
O Father! deign these walls to bless,
Fill with Thy love their
emptiness,
And let their door a gateway be
To lead us from
ourselves to Thee!
1872.
LEXINGTON
1775.
No Berserk thirst of blood had they,
No battle-joy was theirs, who set

Against the alien bayonet
Their homespun breasts in that old day.
Their feet had trodden peaceful, ways;
They loved not strife, they
dreaded pain;
They saw not, what to us is plain,
That God would
make man's wrath his praise.
No seers were they, but simple men;
Its vast results the future hid

The meaning of the work they did
Was strange and dark and doubtful
then.
Swift as their summons came they left
The plough mid-furrow
standing still,
The half-ground corn grist in the mill,
The spade in
earth, the axe in cleft.
They went where duty seemed to call,
They scarcely asked the reason

why;
They only knew they could but die,
And death was not the
worst of all!
Of man for man the sacrifice,
All that was theirs to give, they gave.

The flowers that blossomed from their grave
Have sown themselves
beneath all skies.
Their death-shot shook the feudal tower,
And shattered slavery's
chain as well;
On the sky's dome, as on a bell,
Its echo struck the
world's great hour.
That fateful echo is not dumb
The nations listening to its sound

Wait, from a century's vantage-ground,
The holier triumphs yet to
come,--
The bridal time of Law and Love,
The gladness of the world's release,

When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace
The hawk shall nestle with the
dove!--
The golden age of brotherhood
Unknown to other